I wasn’t going to do this. I had no intention of one last blog post from this house — this home of 20 years. But it just got real, folks, as I was walking around deciding what I would take in the car, and what would stay until we figure out just how much (or little) room we will have in the new place.
So many details. How often are we caught up in the minutiae and never do anything? I know that has been my distraction and downfall. Now, though, it seems like the minutiae is more than insignificant details. No — they are in fact quite significant.
I’m walking from room to room taking a mental inventory, not just of items to throw away or take, or a monumental to-do list of painting and repairs, but of the silliness and joy behind those things.
Only recently did I learn the full scope of the science experiments conducted by the kids in the jack-and-jill bathroom between the girls’ and boy’s room. Great. I would have killed them dead had I known. Now I laugh, and laugh with them as they confess. It also explains the state of the sink.
The scratches in the hallway from the dog running in place unable to get purchase.
The uneven air-conditioning that makes our bedroom a sauna and the rest of the house a meat-locker. It’s bad when guests refer to it as the arctic zone.
The view from the living room into a welcoming and soothing back yard.
The honeysuckles. And roses. And blueberries. And strawberries. And lightning bugs.
I sat in Adoration last night, thinking of all these things and what I would miss, and felt suddenly so very lonely and apprehensive about the move. I’m leaving everything I’ve known for 20 years, exchanging it all for a different view, a different house with memories not yet made.
I looked upon the altar in the chapel one last time, too.
Everything I settled my gaze upon would be replaced with something new. Except the One thing that never changes. He is here. He is there. And suddenly it was all ok. I won’t be going into the unknown at all.
